


Always Further to Fall

by purplekitte



Category: Horus Heresy - Various Authors, Warhammer 40.000
Genre: Chaos Wins AU, Comfort/Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Prisoner abuse, The Crimson Fist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-05
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2018-02-22 19:05:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2518580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purplekitte/pseuds/purplekitte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chaos Wins AU and the traitors keep Dorn as a pet. Horus knows perfectly well the best way to hurt Dorn is through his favourite son, and that a fall requires active participation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Further to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> cross-posted from [tumblr](http://adepta-astarte.tumblr.com/post/81822103225/hi-you-once-mentioned-that-you-have-some-chaos-wins)

I.

There was always a new low, just when Dorn thought he could endure anything the traitors--victorious now--did to him. It shouldn’t have been a surprise they’d use others to hurt him, not when he deserved his own pain and he knew it. He’d been too caught up in the agony of defeat and the shame of how desperate and wanting his body became when he was hurt and used the way he deserved it for having failed. He hadn’t thought of anything worse than Perturabo’s whispers of ‘You like this’, the way he got hard when his brother held him down in the ruins, and his chuckle when Dorn came under him helplessly.

Sigismund was still alive. He was torn between relief and knowledge he’d have probably been better off dying in battle long before. Being alive meant there was always a hope things would change for the better, but it probably meant Dorn would one day have to watch him die.

He had obviously been tortured, but nothing his body wasn’t already beginning to heal as soon as it got the ability. The blood and filth streaking him were dry for the most part, his body still showing the physical perfection of an Astartes under them, his eyes glazed under a shaggy growth of white-blond hair. ‘Sevatar had him,’ Horus explained, ‘but I had more use for him here, so I gave him Amit from the IXth as a consolation prize to fight Khârn over.’

Then Horus lifted Sigismund up by the chin, inspecting him closely. ‘He really is as pretty as everyone says. You have good taste. But knowing you, you never made proper use of him.’ Then his mouth descended on the Imperial Fist’s and Dorn strained against his chains, spikes cutting into his tongue and the roof as his mouth as he ground his teeth.

Dorn wanted to look away so much as Horus raped Sigismund brutally, but he didn’t. He could close his eyes and spare himself the pain of having to look at Sigismund. Sigismund couldn’t avoid anything. The only way to honour that was to endure as well.

II.

The next time Horus had Sigismund dragged in after him, he told Dorn, ‘I worry you didn’t get a good enough view last time.’

Dorn could feel everything. The violence of Horus’ thrusts transmitted through Sigismund’s fragile body, as if he couldn’t remember what they felt like himself. Sigismund’s face pressed into the crook of his neck, the flutter of his eyelashes against his skin and the moisture caught in them. The strength of Sigismund’s grip on his chained arms as he was used, muscles shaking and spasming. The wetness of Sigismund’s blood as it dripped down his thighs. The tension in Sigismund’s jaw as he tried to keep from whimpering aloud and eventually he sank his teeth into Dorn’s shoulder. Dorn welcomed that pain, glad he could do anything for his son.

III.

Horus left them together for longer after that. The strength and comfort they gained from each other’s presence made it all the more fun to break them down again. Dorn didn’t care, couldn’t care when the wider range of motion in his chains let him put his arms around Sigismund and hold him. He could have snapped his neck too and he thought about it, but Sigismund hadn’t asked it of him.

Horus said to him, eventually, ‘Get him ready for me if you want him to suffer less. Or tell your prodigal bastard to be stoic and take it. I care not.’ Which was almost true. Horus didn’t care about Sigismund’s pain; he was interesting in watching Dorn’s reactions to it. He was interested in watching Dorn hurt, Dorn break, Dorn stain himself.

‘You don’t have to,’ Sigismund told him. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’

 _You don’t have to compromise your morals for my sake,_ Dorn heard. _You never did before. You didn’t when you disowned me, and I deserved that._

‘I was wrong,’ he said into his son’s hair. ‘I love you.’ The old world was dead and its old concerns no longer mattered. They had nothing. ‘I love you so much. What do you want of me?’

‘Just hold me.’

He held Sigismund as Horus fucked him, stroked his hair and his back, kissed him softly, and Sigismund held onto him and kissed back desperately. He tried not to think about exactly why he felt so dirty afterwards.

IV.

Further, there was always further. ‘You take him or I will.’ Making Dorn be complacent in his own fall, as if making him broken and powerless had not been enough.

Do what you can, Dorn thought to himself, and let more and more of himself be chipped away by his own actions, by his own playing along with traitors and heretics. He made love to Sigismund and tried to ignore Horus’ eyes on them.

His touches were as tender as he could make them and Sigismund pressed against him everywhere he could. Dorn learned it was best to run his hands across Sigismund’s skin rather than lift them and set them back down however softly, because he flinched as if expecting a blow after years (decades? how long had it been since Terra had fallen?) of abuse. Dorn too could hardly remember the last time anyone else had touched him except to hurt or shame him. Since... before.

He stretched out every moment they had. He wanted to touch Sigismund everywhere. He wanted so much to give Sigismund pleasure, however fleeting and however minute against the backdrop of their failed, tortured lives and the darkness that had engulfed all of humanity. He wanted for Sigismund to know he had been loved, even if it never amounted to anything, even if one or both of them were dead soon. Even that had to be better, had to be different somehow, from never having lived, never having been cherished by anyone ever.

‘I love you,’ they whispered against each other’s skin between kisses. ‘I wanted better for you. You deserve so much better.’

Desperation drove them now, the deep desire not for sex itself but to cling to each other. Had they been able to crawl under each other’s skin, it would not have been enough. Sigismund’s moans were a validation, and he struggled between grasping onto their beauty in the now and the distraction of a thousand imagined horrors in the future that this could be a prelude to.

Dorn gasped as Sigismund finally pulled himself down onto him. He felt amazing and in letting his son set the pace he didn’t have to worry he was rushing him or hurting him; instead, he was faced with the evidence of just how desperately Sigismund _wanted_ him. There were some lines that should never have been crossed, he knew it with absolute certainty, but it was too late for that. Sigismund shuddered as he came, and smiled, Dorn couldn’t help but finish inside him at that.

Too soon, Horus tore Sigismund away and pinned him against a wall. ‘You can have him first, I mean,’ and made a mockery of their touches, replacing gentleness with pain and consummation with violation. ‘Still, you did good,’ Horus said, ruffling Dorn’s wild hair condescendingly, ‘for today.’

Step by step, day by day, there was always further to fall.


End file.
